


Raison D’être

by NETHERW4RT



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Confessions, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Halloween, Hanging Out, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Pining, Pumpkins, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Swearing, Teasing, all that good shit, almost forgot that one, and they were roommates?, bc i wrote it from georges side for the most part lol, dream initiates because he knows george wont, gotta make sure i remember to tag everything, i dont know what else to tag tbh, just guys being dudes, mostly on georges side tho, oh yes haha, what a pog moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27312721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NETHERW4RT/pseuds/NETHERW4RT
Summary: For a moment, the Brit wondered how he could be so casual standing there next to Dream, the formerly disembodied voice nowliving and breathing. He could reach out and touch him if he wanted, feel the fabric of his hoodie (that resembled his Minecraft skin far too much for George’s liking) and how his muscles moved beneath it, note the rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled steadily, or watch his expression shift when they lightly bumped shoulders or brushed their hands together unexpectedly. He restrained himself though, only allowing the simple touches and exchanges of friends who hadn’t gottenthatclose yet. George did hope, however, that they would make it there someday.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 691





	Raison D’être

**Author's Note:**

> halloween fic pog 😏  
> anywho some nice dnf fluff to celebrate spooky season! maybe it’s a nice change of pace from all the other fics? who knows
> 
> peace out ✌️

“I’ll fly you out.”

It slipped out easily, though the air seemed to still as George registered just what Dream had suggested. He fiddled, almost nervously, with his fingers near the computer keyboard, thankful that they were only chatting privately and not joking around on some stream—he would’ve certainly had to turn off his camera abruptly if they had been in order to hide the dust of pink that spread slowly across his cheeks.

“What?” Was all he could manage to say after closing and opening his mouth too many times for comfort.

“I’ll fly you out,” Dream repeated, his tone indicating just how serious he was. “Consider it a...Halloween gift or something. Don’t you wanna come see me?”

George snorted a little and pressed his hand over his mouth for a moment, contemplating. “Fine,” he finally muttered, loud enough for the mic to pick it up. A rush of butterflies tumbled through his gut and he felt something akin to nausea. “You’re really serious? You’ll let me come see you?”

There was a moment of silence before George could hear Dream inhale slowly. “Yeah, I’m serious,” he finally said.

George bit his lip as if it would do anything to keep himself from grinning. “Alright.”  
  


Dream had told him that it was going to be cooler while he stayed, considering it was the end of October and all, but George found that hard to believe when it was still a thousand times hotter there than it was in England. Not to mention the fact that the airport was crowded and he could barely move two inches without accidentally knocking into someone. 

His stomach was turning, for multiple reasons but mainly because _what the fuck did Dream look like, anyway_? George was sure that if Dream found him first, things would be smooth and easy, but if he wasn’t able to spot George amongst the swarm of people, what were they supposed to do? It would take so fucking long and the Brit was certain he would die of heatstroke if that happened.

A buzz from his phone pulled George out of his thoughts and he answered, bringing the device up to his ear. “Hello?”

“George,” Dream’s familiar voice lulled him into an odd state of calmness, “I’m standing outside the gate. I’ll wave if I see you, ‘kay?”

“Uh,” George faltered a little and chuckled lightly, “what if I don’t see you?”

“I’ll stay on the call, then.”

George hummed, biting at his lip. Something about the crossing of this Internet friendship into reality was giving the older man a flurry of butterflies in his stomach. That wasn’t good.

“Thanks.”

After he had walked through what seemed like a maze of people and airport security combined, George managed to end up at the entrance. Great.

“I’m here,” George spoke into the phone, glancing around in an attempt to find anyone waving frantically in his direction; he assumed it would be easier to find Dream since he was taller and not swept up in the crowd, but whatever. “I don’t see you.”

“I haven’t started waving yet,” Dream replied, one of his signature laughs falling off the end of his sentence. “Hold up one hand. I think you’re too short.”

George scoffed but did as he was told, stretching one arm up above his head. He heard a small “ah” from the other end of the line and looked around again, only then seeing a hand peeking above the passing heads.

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled, pushing past the flow of traffic to reach the other side of the walkway.

The call ended with a few beeps, but George was still holding the phone to his ear as he was finally face to face with Dream here, in real life. He found it hard not to have his mouth hang open—somehow he was even more attractive than Dream liked to brag about. His hair wasn’t exactly blond, though it was messy and swept to the side with swipes of golden shining in the warm light of the Floridian sun. His face was dimly lit by the airport lighting (it wasn’t as pretty as how his hair seemed to glow, but he was still handsome as all hell), barely-noticeable freckles dotted along his cheeks and nose. _Cute_ , was all George could really think to describe them as. And then his eyes—his stupid, equally-golden, pissbaby eyes. They seemed to draw George in and hold him there, breathless as he was speechless. They were the dumbest shade of yellow, and if it were anyone else he would’ve probably teased them right away. But it was Dream and somehow he couldn’t find _any_ words coming out of his throat.

“Cat got your tongue?” Dream teased, brushing the back of his hand over his slightly-chapped lips before wetting them for what was probably the billionth time that day. 

“Wh—no, I just didn’t expect you to be so... _ugly_ ,” George lied, finding it hard not to grin up at the other man as his face twisted into feigned hurt.

“ _How could you_?” Dream whispered, obviously fighting back the urge to burst out into laughter right then and there. “Anyway, you tired? Hungry? We can grab something to eat first if you’d like.”

For a moment, the Brit wondered how he could be so casual standing there next to Dream, the formerly disembodied voice now _living and breathing_. He could reach out and touch him if he wanted, feel the fabric of his hoodie (that resembled his Minecraft skin far too much for George’s liking) and how his muscles moved beneath it, note the rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled steadily, or watch his expression shift when they lightly bumped shoulders or brushed their hands together unexpectedly. He restrained himself though, only allowing the simple touches and exchanges of friends who hadn’t gotten _that_ close yet. George did hope, however, that they would make it there someday. 

“I _am_ a bit hungry,” he said, hand fiddling around with the handle of his luggage. “Shouldn’t you help me get all situated first?”

“True,” Dream replied and leaned over, pulling the bag from smaller hands. “I got this one. It’d be rude to make you carry all that any longer.”

George snorted a little, moving his newly-freed hand up to cover his face while he laughed. “I didn’t know you knew how to be gentlemanly, Dream.”

“You’ve got me painted as some kinda asshole in your mind, don’t you?”

“Maybe just a bit.”

They talked about nothing and everything on the way to Dream’s car; somehow the image of him actually driving didn’t fit, but then again George _was_ noticing that he was being nicer and more considerate. Probably because he couldn’t tease him and roughhouse him in real life like he could in Minecraft.

The drive was surprisingly relaxing—frankly, George assumed he would be more reckless than he actually was, but all Dream did was turn on the radio and take his time. The sun was still bright in the sky, drenching his skin with a golden glow that made him seem like some sort of godly figure—ironic, given how Dream literally had a god complex anyway. His fingers drummed rhythmically against his thigh, other hand firmly gripping the steering wheel as the traffic slowed to a complete stop; the sway of the car as they slowed caused George to finally tear his eyes away from Dream and turn his head over to the other side, watching the billboards flash through a variety of ads on the roadside.

“America is strange,” he mused aloud.

Dream chuckled, running his hand down the side of the wheel before stopping at his other thigh. “We truly are a capitalist society, Georgie.”

George scoffed. “Don’t call me that. Idiot.”

“I can’t call you Georgie but you can call me an idiot?”

“Duh. That’s how it works.”

Dream hummed in a mixture of amusement and adoration, the conversation left hovering amongst a comfortable silence. George didn’t recognize the song playing on the radio, but he figured that if he ever heard it again, he would be right back here, in Dream’s car, under the heat of the sun.  
  


“It’s so _hot_ ,” George complained whilst dragging in his belongings beside Dream. “ _Please_ tell me you have air conditioning.”

“It would be fucking crazy not to have air conditioning in Florida of all places, George.” Dream chuckled quietly before it died in his throat as he heaved the heavy luggage up the stairs. “What the hell do you even have in here anyway?”

“Clothes,” the Brit said, shifting the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. “I said I could carry it. _You’re_ the one who insisted on it earlier.”

“That was when I could roll it along and not have to—to pull this thing up to a different floor.”

“Don’t back out now, coward.” George grinned, watching as Dream grunted and shot him that stupidly proud and competitive glare; really, he could probably make Dream do whatever he wanted if he just pushed his buttons a little. Good thing he wasn’t a horrible person. Or at least he thought he wasn’t. 

When they had finally managed to get George’s things piled up in the spare room, Dream brushed his hands against the front of his jeans and let out a sigh.

“That bad?” George asked.

“Nah, just haven’t had to carry anything too heavy up those stairs in a while.”

George simply hummed in acknowledgement, then turned, moving out into the hallway to lean against the small balcony that opened to the floor below. “Big house.”

“Went a bit overboard at first,” Dream admitted, following suit and pressing one palm onto the cool metal frame. “It’s not too bad if you’re here though.”

George paused a moment, eyes flicking towards the taller who looked as though he was unbothered by the underlying weight of what he said. “I’m glad I’m here,” he said after thinking a bit longer. He turned his head away from Dream, expecting an onslaught of teasing and perhaps even some childish poking and prodding, but all he felt was a large, warm hand brushing over the side of his hair and tucking it behind his ear.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Dream said, soft and vulnerable. George turned to meet his gaze and noted that the man’s golden eyes were softer than his voice. He faltered a little at their unexpected tenderness towards each other, but found that Dream’s small smile was so enchanting that before he knew it he was leaning in closer and closer.

A bubble of air caught in George’s throat as he gasped, his arm snapping up to press lightly against Dream’s chest. “Uh, sorry,” he choked out, filling the oncoming silence with laughter that was clearly forced. “Should we—should we get something to eat now?”

Dream pulled away, allowing George’s hand to fall to his side before he brushed off that strange moment, simply laughing at how awkward his friend was. “Yeah, that sounds good. Anything in particular you want?”

“No,” George shook his head, finding it all too easy to fall back into place with Dream, “not really. Whatever’s fine.”

“Alright, cool.”  
  


George tossed another piece of popcorn shrimp into his mouth, humming in satisfaction as his eyes wandered the restaurant. “This is so excessive,” he mumbled, gesturing towards the abundance of sailor-themed decorations all around the walls and ceiling.

“It’s dedication,” Dream corrected, waving his fork at George before snatching up another shrimp of his own. “Smells like the ocean, doesn’t it?”

“It smells like _grease_.”

“And seafood.” Dream laughed and stretched his arms over his head, relishing in the feeling of his joints popping. George frowned.

“That sounds painful.”

“Your voice is painful.”

“ _What_?” George snickered despite his slight irritation. He rolled his eyes and focused back on the food in front of him, pulling apart one of the large waffle fries from his basket-plate. “These chips are way too thick.”

“Just like me,” Dream commented through childish giggles, eyeing George in anticipation for his response; fairly enough, the Brit scoffed and resisted the urge to throw the food at him.

“You’re so gross.”

“You love me though.”

“Yeah, right.” 

“C’mon, Georgie, just say you love me.”

“No way!” George found himself grinning again, stupid and wide like Dream’s. “I’ll never say it, never ever.” He stuck his tongue out, prompting a small gasp from the blond.

“So rude!” Dream reached out, lightly flicking George’s forehead—the smaller responded with a pained yelp and began rubbing at the reddened skin, but both of them soon delved into muffled laughter again, pressing their hands against their mouths to keep from disturbing other customers. 

After they were finally able to stop laughing and finish their meal, Dream turned to George. “Wanna go hang out by the docks? They aren’t real or anything—just tourist shit—but it could still be fun.”

George crumpled up the basket-liner and tossed it out before setting the basket itself atop the trash where Dream had set his. “I guess we can, it doesn’t seem too late and it’s still hot as shit outside, so being by the water sounds pretty nice right now.”

The Brit had almost forgotten how hot it was outside (it really didn’t feel like October _at all_ ) until Dream held the door open for him and he was hit with a rush of warm air. Groaning, he followed after the blond and let his hand mindlessly pat along the wooden posts lining the front of the docks; George watched as the evening sun shimmered and bounced off the rolling water. The air smelled just as salty as he presumed the ocean to be, and part of him felt bad for having just eaten creatures that lived in those waters, but he pushed that thought away. It was too beautiful to be getting himself down over their dinner. At least it was more windy where they were now—George thought he preferred that much more than the still haze from the airport.

“Here,” Dream said, kneeling down on the dock and swinging his legs over the edge. He patted the boards beside him and chuckled. “C’mere.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” George squatted down beside him, pausing a moment before he slid off his shoes and left them in the grass behind them.

“What’s that all about?”

“I don’t wanna get them wet. Or lose them.”

Dream lightly nudged the Brit with his elbow. “You’re so stupid.”

“It’s a legitimate concern!” George shot back, any anger present in his voice mixing with giddy laughter. “I bet you’d make me walk back to your place if I lost them anyway. Fucking sadist.”

“Well, maybe.” Dream smirked, cocking an eyebrow upwards at George, who responded with a scoff and roll of his eyes. “It’s nice though, right?”

The shorter man nodded, listening to the crash of waves against the wood and the distant cawing of seagulls. He leaned back, legs swinging unconsciously as his eyes scanned the blue sky—it was pretty. It always was, but somehow it seemed prettier with Dream. _Bluer_ , even. “It is,” he finally breathed out.

“George?”

George glanced back towards Dream at the mention of his name, breath hitching when the blond’s face was much closer to his than he expected. He could practically count the freckles on his face. “Yes,” he sputtered quietly; although it was meant to be a question, it sounded more like he was giving Dream permission for something. Something unknown to him, but welcomed all the same.

“One last stop before we go home.”

“Huh?”

Dream leaned back again, smugness plastered over his features—he seemed to be counting it as some kind of victory that he had managed to make George flustered and confused. “It’s Halloween, Georgie, let’s have some fun!”

“Ugh,” George groaned, resting a hand over his face. “You fucking—you’re an asshole.”

“Why’s that?” He couldn’t see Dream’s face then, but George could hear the painfully wide grin on his face loud and clear.

“Shut up.”

“Aw, come on!”  
  


George tugged his foot upwards through the spiraling vines below him, grumbling as every step caused the leaves to tickle his ankles. “Really, Dream? A pumpkin patch?”

“It’s fun!” Dream exclaimed, shooting his arms up in the air excitedly. “We can bring two of ‘em home and carve ‘em together!”

“What, you finally decided to use this for vlog content?” George winced, gripping onto the side of Dream’s arm as his foot caught another time, almost sending him face-first into the squashes. “Shit—”

“You alright?” Dream slid a hand around the Brit’s back to help steady him, putting teasing behind his actual safety for once (well, he usually did, it’s just that he liked to tease George _while_ keeping him safe).

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, thanks.” George retracted his hand quickly, fixing his steps so that they weren’t so shallow and he wouldn’t have to be tripping over things every five seconds.

“Nah, though,” Dream continued, moving away as well. “If I did a vlog, I’d probably do a face reveal first. It’d be annoying to have to film every video neck-down. This is just for us.”

“Just for us?” George echoed as if the words would shatter.

“Just for us,” Dream repeated, smiling back at the shorter man.

George found his cheeks growing hot and he stiffened, looking away when he met Dream’s gaze; the other thought nothing of it, simply continuing to guide him through the maze of pumpkins.

“How about this one?” 

The Brit looked over towards where Dream was pointing, squinting a bit. “It’s...alright,” he muttered, looking upwards to watch the colors of the sky fade together in an inky-golden color that he figured Dream would find much more beautiful than he did. “Make sure it’s not lopsided then.”

“Yes sir,” Dream said with a sarcastic note, leaning down over the pumpkin and holding it up to inspect; it wasn’t completely round like the top half claimed it would be, but it wasn’t a bad pick either. “Seems good to me.”

“You’re really gonna just pick the first pumpkin you lay your hands on?”

“Jealous?”

If George were drinking something, he surely would’ve spit it out at that. “W-wha—?”

“Kidding!” Dream smirked and stuck his tongue out at George. “It had nice vibes. I’m sure you’ll be more picky about yours anyway, so I figured I’d save us a few hours.”

“Oh, real funny.” George sighed and rolled his eyes; it was like every time Dream riled him up, he would shut it down right away again. Just what the hell was he trying to do, anyway? “Let’s just get going.”

As much as he hated to admit it, though, George did find himself spending much more time picking out a pumpkin. Could you really blame him, though? Some were too small, some were too large, others were too bumpy, and others were too lopsided. It was like he was Goldilocks, searching through the Bears’ house to find _just_ the right pumpkin for her Halloween decorations.

Except he wasn’t a girl and talking bears didn’t exist, let alone own property.

“George, _come on_.” Somehow he even managed to make Dream give up on teasing him and head straight to complaining. “It’s been forever and my arms hurt from carrying around this pumpkin! Let’s just choose one and go back already.”

“I told you not to pick the first one you saw!” George refuted, turning another pumpkin around by the stem. “Ugh, this one’s not it either—there are too many awkward lumps on the bottom.”

“ _Dude_!”

“I get it!” The Brit sighed heavily, crossing his arms. “Fine, I’ll just choose with my eyes closed then.” He could hear Dream laugh at his decision, but his eyes were already closed and he was already spinning around on his feet; after a moment, he stopped and tentatively pointed a finger towards the ground. “That one.”

“That one?” Dream asked, his voice raising an octave; George’s heart dropped. “Are you sure?”

“Ca—wait, can I pick a different one?”

“Nope!” Dream burst out into laughter, his signature wheezing noises filling George’s ears. Groaning, the latter peeked one eye open.

“Oh my god, it’s so _small_!” 

“I—I know, right! Oh, god, George, you—you gotta pick it! This is yours now!”

George let his head fall into his hands. “This sucks,” he muttered, though a few giggles rose up from his stomach. Stupid Dream and his stupid contagious laugh. “Okay, okay! Fine, I’ll—I’ll make do with that one, let’s just hurry and buy them and get out of here already.” He knelt down and plucked the tiny pumpkin out from among the others, holding it neatly in his hands; it was almost annoying how perfectly it sat in his palms.

Still, they had both picked them out so that was what he settled with. Dream ended up setting his in the back seat of his car while George simply kept his in his lap. Maybe that was _one_ good thing about it—it wasn’t heavy.

“I don’t know if I’d trust you with a knife,” George finally said as he shut the passenger door and followed Dream back inside his house. “I mean, you do have a hazardous record with them.”

“In _Minecraft_ ,” Dream spat back with a huff. “I’m not gonna charge at you with a knife in real life, George, I’m not stupid.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.”

George choked, coughing out nothing before he glared at Dream, who was only laughing at him—that was the first time anyone had ever been dumb enough to use that phrase around him, after all. “I hate you,” he said.

“No you don’t.” Dream carried the pumpkin into the kitchen and set it down gently onto the counter with a light thump. The Brit did so as well, scrunching his nose up in displeasure at just how small his pumpkin actually looked next to Dream’s.

“This is stupid.”

“It’ll be fun,” Dream reminded him, grabbing a few paper towels to line the table with before he moved them over. “I think I’ll make my logo.”

George raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over the counter as he watched the blond pick out a knife. “That’s two dots and a line.”

“And?”

“That’s—that’s _cheating_ , you have to actually try!”

“That’s not cheating.” Dream chuckled and set down the knife beside his pumpkin and then handed George a smaller one—not quite a pocket knife, but it looked like one at the very least. Something told him Dream was mocking him, but he didn’t mention it. “But fine, your highness, I’ll do something else for you.”

George hummed through a silent laugh. “Good. I think I’ll just do a classic face—not much you can do with a tiny pumpkin like this, anyway.”

“Your fault,” Dream remarked, already cutting out the top of his pumpkin. He shimmied the stem around until the top slid out and he set it to the side. It was hard not to laugh under his breath when he watched George do the same—something about his pumpkin being so small was just comical. Still, he focused enough to not fuck up and slice off one of his fingers, upturning the squash to let most of the goop inside drip out onto the table.

“Ew, Dream!” George shrieked and stepped away, though there was really no reason to. “Why didn’t you just get a bowl or something?!”

“What, and waste good dishes? No thank you.” Dream huffed and scraped the knife along the bottom of the pumpkin, cutting off whatever remaining nerve endings were left before he reached in with his bare hands (which, of course, caused George to gag a little) and scooped out the rest. His dishes might not have been ruined, but instead there was just a sloppy pile of pumpkin guts seeping through multiple paper towels over his table. A worthy trade.

“You’re disgusting,” George said whilst knocking the bottom of his pumpkin over the pile; if there was already a mess they were going to have to clean up, there was no harm in adding onto it. His pumpkin was small enough to make almost no difference, anyway. “The poor pumpkin deserves better than you.”

Dream rolled his eyes as he carved out a small hole in the front of the pumpkin flesh; normally there should’ve been guidelines, but fuck it, right? It’s his own logo and he doesn’t give a damn about guidelines anyway. It’s a fucking _circle_ , it can’t possibly be _that_ hard.

Except it came out looking more like a misshapen triangle than anything.

“Fuck,” the blond grumbled, gesturing towards George’s knife. “Gimme that for a second.”

George blinked. “What? No, I’m using it, just get another!”

“George!” Dream laughed as he raised his voice, another stupid grin finding its way upon his lips. “Just give me the knife!”

“No way!” The Brit shot back, leaning away from him and holding the knife as high as he could reach. Though he knew full well Dream could still snatch it out of his hand, there was a message there and he was hoping it got across. “You’re too reckless!”

It did. Dream scoffed and crossed his arms. “Fine, fine, just hurry it up then.”

And hurry he did, shaping the eyes and mouth (there was no room for a nose) before handing the knife over to Dream, who also lazily carved his logo’s three simple features into the pumpkin. The taller looked a little too prideful for his simple work, but George figured that at least he was happy—his goofy, genuine smile was better than the smile he made while teasing the Brit.

They finished off by lighting two of those tiny, metal-lined candles and setting them inside each of their self-proclaimed masterpieces before Dream flicked off the lights.

“It’s kinda underwhelming,” George commented with a snort; at least in the dark he didn’t have to cover his face when he laughed like that.

“Yeah,” Dream agreed, chuckling, “but at least we had fun, right?”

“Right.” George turned his head up towards Dream and found that he looked just as handsome coated in the warm, dull candle lighting as he did drenched in the sun’s golden rays. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was cut off before he even realized what he had wanted to say, or if he had anything to say at all.

“Hey Georgie?” The taller man twisted himself towards George, sliding an arm around his waist to pull him closer; it was so unprompted and shocking that George was thankful beyond belief that the darkness masked his rosy cheeks when his hips met against Dream’s. “Kinda feels like there’s a certain mood here—you feel it too, right?”

George swallowed a lump in his throat. “H-huh?” He had more to say, he really did, but the words died in his throat when he finally could pick apart the features of Dream’s face so close to his—it was much more difficult with him facing away from the candlelight. Still, he was being drawn in like a moth to a flame, silenced by Dream’s gaze and coerced by the feel of his hands around his waist.

“Is it alright?” The blond asked, voice teetering on the line between a whisper and complete silence. George could only find it in him to clench loosely at the fabric of Dream’s shirt and give a weak nod; maybe they would pretend this never happened or play it all off as some kind of joke, but in that moment the Brit could feel his stomach whirling with butterflies as Dream’s lips found his own and suddenly nothing else mattered. George stumbled backwards a little when Dream pushed harder, but he was caught by the wall behind them, leaving the other propped up by his forearms and hovering over George’s petite frame while biting at his lips until they were red and swollen.

“Dr—”

“Shh,” Dream pressed a finger to George’s lips and smirked, tugging gently down on the bottom one. “You look so pretty, George.”

And _oh_ , he could feel his knees going weak again, the butterflies doing somersaults in his gut. The shorter man reached out and pulled Dream back into their own little world, grabbing at his neck and playing with loose strands of blond hair that fell behind it. He twirled a few strands around his fingers over and over until his skin almost burned numb with the repetition. Nothing was better than Dream’s hands gliding along his sides though, feeling the slight heat above his clothes and gripping at his hips and thighs (a tease, as always) before pulling him closer again while keeping him trapped right there against the wall so that George was all his, not going anywhere anytime soon.

They broke apart, lingering in each other’s breath for a moment before Dream shattered the silence with a laugh that caused George’s brow to furrow. “How ‘bout that,” he muttered amusedly, though part of how he sighed seemed to be filled with relief.

“Dream?” George was finally able to ask sheepishly, now breathing ragged; his arms were still locked together behind the blond’s neck, though he felt no need or want to remove them.

“George,” Dream responded quietly, pressing his forehead down against the Brit’s. “You okay with this?”

“I—I’m more than okay with this.”

Dream chuckled, still caressing George by his waist while his lips travelled slowly around his face, pressing soft kisses to pale skin. “That’s good, then. I didn’t think I’d get this far, really.”

“What do you mean?”

“I like you, George.”

“Oh,” George said, simply, stupidly, and nodded. After a moment, it actually sank into his brain and he gasped softly, hands sliding down from the blond’s neck to his shoulders. “Wait—you _like_ me? _Like_ like me?”

“Yes, George, _like_ like. I’d even go as far as to say that I _love_ you.” Dream laughed again, reveling in how adorable George was like that, close to him and confused, round doe eyes staring at him like he was the only thing that mattered—the only thing in the entire world. He noticed how the shorter man’s cheeks turned a subtle rose color underneath the orange hue (as hard as it was to notice, Dream was always looking at George, so of course he would notice). 

It took George a moment to compose himself again, his mind tossed around by all these sudden developments—first the kiss, and now Dream was confessing to him? Surely they had done things in the wrong order.

“I love you too,” he said finally, hastily almost, as if the words would disappear if he waited too long.

Dream smiled, raising one arm up to cup George’s cheek in the palm of his hand. “I’m glad,” he whispered, pulling the Brit in for one last kiss, thinking that this was probably the best Halloween either of them have ever had.


End file.
